


Ceremony of Innocence

by dogmatix, norcumi



Series: A Supplemental Star to Steer By [10]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Don’t copy to another site, GFY, Gen, Goa'uld Jedi, Loss of Limbs, Mind Manipulation, On Screen Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22352809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: Eight years into the Separatist Conflict, a Jedi Shadow uncovers information crucial to the war and to the Jedi Order, prompting the Sith Master to accelerate his plans.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555/Anakin Skywalker
Series: A Supplemental Star to Steer By [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/275076
Comments: 106
Kudos: 371





	1. Reagent

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to ShaeTiann for a swift and awesome beta!
> 
> Thanks also to samjohnsson for once upon a time inadvertently suggesting [The Second Coming](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43290/the-second-coming) as a useful source for titles!

**Intrigue! The Jedi  
are on the verge of  
discovering the identity  
of the Sith Master they have  
sought so long, but one Jedi  
will have to make the ultimate  
sacrifice to escape the clutches  
of Darth Sidious.**

**Then, in a stunning move, the ruthless  
Separatist leader, the Count of Serenno,  
sweeps into the Republic capital and kidnaps  
Chancellor Palpatine, leader of the Galactic Senate.**

** **As the Separatist Droid Army attempts to flee the besieged  
capital with their valuable hostage, two Jedi Knights lead a desperate  
mission to rescue the captive Chancellor....** **

****

* * *

She crouched closer to the wall in the disgusting alley, panting for breath and struggling to keep from hyperventilating. She wasn’t _used_ to regulating autonomic functions like breathing. Siri Tachi gave a shake of the head, desperately wishing she had time to reassure the Rodian hosting her. Oh, she’d _tried_ to, for the few seconds between dropping in uninvited and running like hell.

He was screaming. He’d _been_ screaming the entire time in the privacy of his head, making an already fraught, complex escape even more difficult.

#_Just a little further,_# she tried anyways, because it wasn’t his fault he’d been the hapless janitor cleaning obscure corners of what he thought was just an ordinary office building on the edge of CoCo Town.

_Just a little further_, she reminded herself, glancing up. Hundreds of meters above her head, and so far off it seemed like a dream, she could see the spires of the Jedi Temple. She could do this. She _couldn’t_ fail, not now. Not after everything.

Siri stood, the movements jerky and uncoordinated as she doggedly hurried to certain death.

* * *

99 was up early, far earlier than usual. They had been restless the night before, Yoda plagued with the sensation of portent, as if something were lurking behind their shoulder and ready to pounce. 99 still had a bad feeling, but the most frustrating part was that he could not pinpoint a bad feeling about _what_.

The answer arrived with first light and a tap on his door chime. He tested the mental feel of the being on the other side before opening – durasteel shields, but no sense of threat. He kept his lightsaber close anyways.

An unfamiliar young Rodian stood there, eyes darting nervously around as he trembled like a leaf in a high breeze. “Master Yoda!” he hissed in a sharp whisper.

She, actually. He could recognize Siri Tachi’s voice as her shields faltered a bit. Any sense of reassurance disappeared as a blast of the Dark Side slipped through the same crack that allowed him to identify her.

“Knight Tachi–!” he started, but she spoke over him.

“I need to turn myself in to the Council immediately. My mission had solid results, but–” Her breath shook as she inhaled deeply. 99 knew already, with a deep pang from Yoda. The old Jedi had hoped he would never have to face such horror again.

“This man did not consent to host me. And we are all in terrible danger.”

* * *

Mace wasn’t sure why Yoda had called a closed Council session _before breakfast_, but he put it down to whim and contrariness. His host Ponds kept up a quiet stream of incoherent muttering, because while his host was more than capable of handling mornings, he didn’t particularly _like_ them. The man was more than content to let Mace deal with 90% of anything that happened before lunch – as an actual morning person, Mace was fine with that.

Yoda had asked him to be discreet, and given he was coming from the far end of the Temple it was no surprise that the only others not present were Kenobi and Koon, both who were out in the field and might well have been called from a battlefield for this...whatever it was. Shaak Ti had the haggard look of one who was up far later than she liked, but Kamino wasn’t on standard Core time.

There was also a Mirialan standing behind Yoda’s chair. #_One of the crèche staff, aren’t they?_# Ponds asked, curious in spite of himself.

#_This is why people believe we know everyone and everything. Why do you think that?_#

#_Unusual tattoos. Asked about the style once._#

He didn’t recall that, but he wasn’t about to go poking through his host’s memories to settle the matter. The mental shields the Mirialan had were of more interest. They were good enough that there was probably a Jedi involved, but that didn’t explain what this strange meeting was about.

At long last Kenobi’s hologram flickered into being – judging from the scorch marks on Alpha 17’s armor and the ‘will shank a clanker for three credits or an hour of sleep’ expression, straight from battle. The instant he appeared, Yoda initiated privacy protocols from the control pad in his chair’s arm. Mace blinked at the shimmer of blue privacy shielding swept over the chamber’s windows, accompanied by the high-pitched hum of scramblers.

He couldn’t recall the last time they’d used the highest levels of security – what the hells was going on? This was overkill countermeasures for just about everything he could think of.

Yoda closed his eyes for a moment, and Mace could feel a hint of the familiar Force presence sweeping over him. #_This cannot be good,_# Ponds whispered, because an extra check for spies via the Force was even more over the top.

Yoda opened solemn green eyes and nodded to the Mirialan. He stepped to the center of the room, giving the tense Council members a polite bow. “I am Delin Cirrus, an attendant in the crèche. Master Yoda approached me, to my knowledge at random, in order to temporarily host a Jedi for the next rotation and only the next rotation. I have been briefed on the circumstances, and consent freely.”

Adrenaline sent a chill down Mace’s spine, and Ponds muttered a quiet, pained, #_No. Force, no. WHO?_#

The man’s posture changed, going formal and a bit rigid as he drew himself up. His eyes went to a shade of violet that was familiar, then the Jedi gave their own bow. “I am Knight Siri Tachi,” she declared, and Mace could see Adi Gallia out of the corner of his eye. Adi – Tachi’s former Master – winced, a hand coming up to cover her mouth, because by now everyone had to recognize the chill of portent lancing through the Force. “I have taken an unwilling host.”

Mace wasn’t sure who let out the gut-punched noise, but it was liable to be more than one Councillor. “Explain yourself,” he demanded, because it was his responsibility to head this inquest.

Tachi stood at parade rest, hands behind her back and her head up. Shame, fear, and some other emotion he couldn’t pinpoint simmered though her, rounding her shoulders and darkening her eyes. “My usual host, Cerasi Young, has a contract through the Shadows. They’re allowed to keep those files confidential, but you should pull it anyways, keep it locked down and _away_ from anyone who might go digging. I believe her to be dead in the course of our latest mission, which was to follow leads to the being or beings we know to be behind the Separatist Uprising.

“I was unable to get documented proof, but I am certain that Chancellor Palpatine is or hosts the Sith Lord Sidious – the one behind the war in the first place.”

There was a stunned silence, finally broken by Mace. “Are you _sure_?”

Siri glanced up at him, then spread her host’s arms wide. “Certain enough to take an unwilling host to guarantee that I got the information to you, Master Windu.” She resumed a more patient stance. “Cerasi and I were discovered in our attempt to escape. We split up in the – in the hopes that they would follow her, and that I could slip away undetected. It turns out there were more safety measures on the vents and other escape routes than usual, as if just in case an unhosted Jedi were to attempt exploring. When I realized that there was no way I could get out on my own, I – I made the call. To possess a janitor in one of the less secure parts of the building. I came here as quickly as I could, and contacted Master Yoda. He took the poor man someplace else, and returned with Master Cirrus. I gave a preliminary report to Master Yoda while he arranged for this meeting.”

The Chancellor. _Chancellor Palpatine_ was a Sith, was _the_ Sith who directed the army, knew all the movements and battle plans save for those constructed in the heat of the moment, which would explain some things about Kenobi and Skywalker’s success.

The Chancellor, crafting an entire _war_ to destabilize the Republic, the Jedi, who knew what else.

#_Sweet Force gods, we’re fucked,_# Ponds declared.

#_Not yet, I hope._# “We cannot just accept your word without proof, you realize.”

“Of course. It is...unlikely that m– that Cerasi will make it back, and Shadows have a protocol for these sorts of circumstances if they are caught.” Tachi had to swallow a few times, her grief thick in the air. “She would not compromise this information if humanly possible. I humbly request to share my memories of the last few days with the members of the Council that are present, as well as relevant highlights from the last few months. This information can be entered into what I hope will be a sealed record, and be available for the inevitable scrutiny.”

Ponds sent a wave of reassurance, the mental equivalent of a steadying hand on the shoulder. Mace was not ashamed to admit that he needed it. He braced himself in his chair, lifting his chin. This was war, this was evidence of highest treason. He – _they_ – could not quail from it. “Very well, Tachi. Proceed.”

* * *

Obi-Wan tried not to stagger as he left the room secured for private communications. This was – The _chancellor_ – How the hells could –

“Master? You look awful! What did the Council _want_?”

His head jerked up, and for a moment he could only stare at Anakin.

Anakin, who rubbed elbows with many political types. Who was a close personal friend of _Palpatine_. Palpatine, who had gifted to Anakin the prosthetic arm now steadying Obi-Wan.

Palpatine, the _Sith_.

#_No throwing up_,# 17 commanded, taking over more bodily control. #_He’s the last person who should know. He’s too compromised!_#

“An old friend from the crèche,” Obi-Wan managed, feeling as if he were far distant from 17’s body. “She – she just died.” Yoda had stepped forward, taking responsibility as both Siri’s progenitor and Head of the Order. She’d looked so small, perched on Mace’s hand. Gods, he really was close to vomiting. “They wanted to break the news gently.”

Yoda had been swift, and merciful. Obi-Wan still almost couldn’t believe that _Siri Tachi_ had taken an unwilling host. There would be no memorials of her, no tribute to her desperate heroism in the face of that vile atrocity. He understood that, agreed wholeheartedly with the ancient protocol even as a part of him wanted to wail that it wasn’t _fair_, that it wasn’t right that she would only ever be a cautionary tale to younglings in the crèche.

Anakin’s expression flipped from sullen, protective anger to sympathetic. “I’m so sorry. Do you want to talk about it?”

_Never_. “Not any time soon, I think.”

17 took control, thank the Force. “Wish we had time to work through it, but the war’s waiting for no one. Sorry kid, but that was our break for this afternoon and we have to get back to the red tape.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, and Fives muttered, “Tell me about it. Did you _see_ the latest mountain of requisition forms?”

17 kept control as they sauntered from the communications area to their offices, somehow kvetching as if everything were normal instead of horribly wrong. Fives and Anakin took their leave so an exhausted Obi-Wan could palm the door closed. He sank down into his chair, planting his elbows on the desk and scrubbing at his face.

None of it helped.

#_What the hell do we tell them?_# he finally whispered.

17 shrugged. #_Above our paygrade, isn’t it? That’s the Council’s problem._#

#_We’re on the bloody Council, and they’re our FAMILY. It’s precisely our problem!_#

17 sighed, and it was his turn to scrub their face. #_Obi-Wan_.# Obi-Wan froze, because 17 sounded _tired_, and for a moment he was keenly aware of every last year the man had seen. They didn’t talk like this, didn’t acknowledge that they had plenty of aches and scars for an active field Jedi, nevermind a General running more of the damned war than he ever liked to consider. #_It’s need to know, and much as I love those idiots they don’t need to know. They fly off the handle too much and we can’t always predict it nowadays, not with the kind of pressure everyone’s under. Let the fucking Council decide the heading, and soon as we hit metaphorical hyper we pull them aside and talk them through it. You hate it, I hate it, and Padmé’s gonna have our heads, but we cannot make it through eight fucking years of war just for Anakin and Fives to get all protective and challenge a fucking Sith to a duel before we have any measures in place._#

Gods dammit. He hated it when 17 had to be the reasonable one.

#_That makes two of us. Fuck, sometimes I miss getting drunk,_# 17 grumbled. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t even muster up the energy for a smile. #_Liar. You hate being drunk._#

#_Gotta be better than this._#


	2. The Invisible Hand

Anakin pelted through Grievous’ capital ship, worry nipping at his heels. There were droids everywhere, and each delay choked the anxiety tighter.

Obi-Wan had made the call to split up to look for Palpatine. Anakin had argued that it was a stupid plan, and he’d been right, of course, but Obi-Wan never _listened_ to him. It’d started out fine, but about ten minutes ago, the solid, confident feel of Obi-Wan had swirled into a burst of surprise, fury, and despair that often accompanied wounds. Then the connection had gone quiet, and Anakin and Fives had been alone.

He dodged down a small corridor because they could hear several squads tromping down the main one they’d been taking. Too many for them to fight, easier to go around. Anakin stopped near an elevator, leaning against the wall and trying to catch his breath.

#_I can’t find Palpatine!_# Fives declared a few deep breaths later. Anakin’s next breath had a frustrated hitch to it, and he thumped his head against the wall just once in sheer frustration. He couldn’t think of the last time they’d gotten decent sleep, rest that wasn’t plagued by unsettling nightmares neither he nor Fives could recall on awakening. Pain, death, lightning – that was about all that really made sense.

They’d hoped that being recalled to Coruscant proper would help, time to recharge and maybe reconnect with the family, but not even half an hour before coming out of hyperspace, the _Negotiator_ and _Resolute_ had gotten an emergency transmission. Sep forces had snuck past all the defenses to somehow make it to the center of the Republic itself, and by the time they were out of hyper Grievous had kidnapped Palpatine. The fight had been to get Sep forces off Coruscant as quickly as possible while keeping Grievous’ flagship from escaping.

It was a nightmare indeed, not helped by Obi-Wan’s stupid ‘splitting up’ plan, nor the fact that there hadn’t been _time_ to check up on anyone. Not Shmi, not Padmé – for all they knew, the Temple itself had been razed.

It wasn’t like the Seps hadn’t bombed other Temples though the war, taking down everything – including the crèche.

Anakin and Fives shook off the thought. #_Later,_# Fives muttered, trying to reassure him for all that Anakin could feel his host’s equal worry. He just raised his com.

“Artoo? Can you get me a lift to the right level?” It was a relief to get that acknowledgement. At least something was going right.

* * *

Count Yan of Serenno was precise and cunning. He was known for taking calculated risks that paid off handsomely, both in politics and in war. Jedi Master Dooku had had several hosts during his long centuries of service to the Jedi Order, and never had he met a being more suited to him. 

Dooku had lamented Count Yan’s hereditary position and responsibilities many times over the last eight years, for it was these that had previously precluded any consideration of hosting on the Count’s part. Dooku was quite sure that they would have been a magnificent match, had the galaxy and history been other than what they were.

Sadly, the galaxy and history followed a harsher pattern, and the circumstances of their match had been much darker than Dooku would have ever preferred. Two years before the start of the Separatist Conflict, the Count had come to the Jedi Council in secret, with unsettling news. He had been approached to lead a political coalition of those who dissented with the Republic, a group of individuals who talked of secession with genuine intent and sometimes rabid fervor. 

While Serenno had more than a little sympathy for these Separatists, their approach was a fool’s quest. The Separatists were scattered across the galaxy, with no centralized base nor any unified cause beyond wanting to leave an increasingly corrupt Republic.

None of which had brought him to the Jedi, but when he’d turned the offers of leadership down for a third time, he’d been visited by a cloaked being who had displayed powers commonly associated with the Jedi. However, the man’s use of those powers to threaten and manipulate had led the Count to believe that he was dealing with a malevolent Darkside adept of some kind. 

The Council had been sceptical of the Count’s claims, but not dismissive, and it was in their mandate to prevent abuses of power of the sort the Count described. Dooku, who had made an in-depth study of ancient and current Darkside cultures, artifacts, and writings, had been intrigued enough to chase after the possibility of an undiscovered Darksider, or someone posing as one.

Oh, how little he’d suspected what he would find.

The Count had been adamant that any new faces at his court would bear diligent scrutiny by those attending, not to mention the possible Darksider, and he himself had been the one to raise the possibility of hosting a Jedi. Thus, Dooku had bade farewell to his former host, who was ostensibly taking a sabbatical with Dooku to one of the more rural temples, while Dooku was in truth hosted within the Count of Serenno.

It became apparent within the first year that the Count was correct about the malevolent Darksider, and a Jedi team was sent out to follow and apprehend said Darksider. They never returned. When the second team disappeared without a trace, the Council started to become truly alarmed.

The Darksider was elusive as smoke, and the Count was their only lead on him. Unfortunately, the Count had to go along with the Darksider’s demands, and although the Jedi were aware of the unrest and outrage building within some of the Outer Rim systems, their best efforts to calm the troubled relations with the Inner Core weren’t very effective. 

Not even a month later, the bombing of several clone cryogenic facilities announced the start of the Separatist Uprising. The Count had done his best to root out the party or parties responsible, but there had been no evidence to find, much to his and Dooku’s frustration. It was moot, in any case – war was inevitable the moment the facilities went up in flames.

The only silver lining was that, with the war started, the Darksider had visited Dooku personally, to lay out tactics and strategies. Sidious, who answered to ‘Darth’ as readily as ‘my lord,’ promised victory over the Republic. Meanwhile the kind of funds he’d fronted to the Trade Guilds towards that end indicated deep pockets and compelling strings to pull on political and financial figures. The sheer scope of influence the Sith held had made Dooku’s blood run cold, and had shocked the Jedi Council.

It was for this reason that the Jedi had withheld crucial details about their hunt for the Sith behind the Separatist Uprising from the Senate and even the Chancellor. Trustworthy, Palpatine and most of the senators might be, but with as much blackmail as the Sith had to have, they couldn’t risk sensitive information getting to the wrong ears.

The Count of Serenno was the only solid contact they had in their effort to discover who the Sith was, and as such, the Count had to act as the leader of the Separatists, though the horrors of war that they had been forced to execute weighed heavy upon both his shoulders and Dooku’s. They did what very little they could to mitigate the death tolls and the war crimes, but their cover had been paramount.

Ironically, the Council had results before they did. The Jedi just barely managed to slip them a message that it was _Palpatine_. There was enough detail that Dooku had still been reeling from the implications when Sidious contacted them. The time to strike at the heart of the Republic was now, because he’d caught wind that his enemies were moving upon him.

That was enough to confirm for them that the intel was accurate. The mastermind behind the war was puppeting both sides.

There’d been no time to do anything, however. Before they could regroup, the Count had been summoned to General Grievous’ flagship. This was to be the decisive battle, and it would be best if the political figurehead was to be seen stepping victorious upon a conquered Coruscant.

He’d hoped so much that there might be an opportunity to stop this madness, but none presented itself as the Separatist fleet erupted into Coruscant’s airspace, nor before Grievous could kidnap a suspiciously poorly guarded Chancellor to said flagship.

Grievous restrained the Chancellor in an unsettlingly throne-like chair on the bridge, then he scampered off to deal with attacking Jedi. It was both relief and disheartening when he returned, dragging an unconscious General Kenobi behind him. No throne for the Jedi, nor the dignity of restraints. Instead he was tossed into a stasis field, so that Grievous could safely gloat when the man came to.

He was still gloating when Skywalker Force-shoved several commando droids through the door to open it. Dooku allowed himself a moment of nostalgia; Qui-Gon had favored such melodramatics, and there were many days when he missed his student. It figured that such flamboyancy had continued in their line.

As the ostensible normal human, the Count retreated to the chair holding a poorly restrained Chancellor. The Count had a blaster, as well as a lightsaber – though the latter had been a grotesque token of fealty from Grievous, ripped from some poor dead Jedi who wouldn’t need it anymore. Yan always wore it as a fashion statement, though in truth Dooku was glad to have it available should they need it. It had been necessary several times over the years in keeping them alive.

For now, however, the blaster would suffice.

* * *

‘Nightmarish’ remained all too accurate. Anakin strode onto the bridge accompanied by the sound of Grievous’ mad cackle. The Count of Serenno stood near Chancellor Palpatine, blaster held loose but ready on the terrified man restrained in a very uncomfortable looking chair. Obi-Wan was present, faint echoes of him sassing Grievous dying away under those cackles and the hum of a stasis field keeping Obi-Wan from interfering.

It was...disconcerting to have Grievous pacing to a slow halt before them, amusement and satisfaction radiating from every last part of him. “Well, well. Took you long enough to arrive, Skywalker.”

Palpatine still felt terrified, but it was now shot through with desperate hope.

“This is an honour,” the Count of Serenno intoned, giving a gracious nod towards them. “I hadn’t hoped to meet you as well,” he said, as if he were clueless who’d been wreaking havoc through the damn ship.

Fives bit back the snarl Anakin wanted to give, clipping their tone to something faux polite. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

The Count gave them a thin smile in return. “It truly doesn’t have to be this way. You could always join us, you know.”

Fives scoffed. “Right. Let you kill 17 and Obi-Wan, kidnap and ransom the Chancellor, and maybe trash a decent portion of Coruscant before you’re done. I don’t think so!”

“I did tell you,” Obi-Wan pointed out, dry and trying to get a rise out of someone because that was just what Obi-Wan _did_.

Grievous snarled, taking several clanking steps closer to both Jedi. “You may have refused the offer, but not everyone is so foolish as you, _Kenobi_.”

Anakin ignored the posturing, hefting his lightsaber towards the Count as the human strolled casually over towards Obi-Wan. That blaster was still ready for Palpatine, Obi-Wan, or Anakin himself, and Grievous would jump in the instant he made a move. Stalemate.

Fives indicated he was ready to Force pull vital mechanical bits from the stasis projector, so Anakin glared at the Count. “I will never betray the Republic, or my friends.”

* * *

“Very well,” Dooku declared, steeling himself as best he could. He reached for the decorative, ‘ceremonial’ lightsaber at his belt, drawing it with as raw and unpracticed a flourish as he could manage. The Count grabbed control for a heartbeat, igniting it in a fancy salute, then Dooku lunged forward.

Plasma seared through flesh and muscle as he stabbed Kenobi in the chest, Kenobi then Skywalker screaming in chorus. Kenobi’s cry cut off as Dooku pulled the weapon free. Skywalker’s was interrupted by Grievous’ cackle as the clatter of cyborg limbs indicated he was dealing with the enraged Jedi.

Good. He let the Count fumble the lightsaber back onto their belt, for all that the man had mastered the maneuver their first day together. It allowed Dooku an opportunity to sneak a glimpse at Palpatine bound to the throne-like chair. He was glaring in Dooku’s direction – less indignance than earlier, and now more huffiness as if he did not appreciate the Count stealing his thunder.

Unexpected, in a captive.

Terrifying, given the intelligence the Jedi had just barely managed to get to him before the attack began.

He allowed himself a moment to glance back at Kenobi. The blow had been precise: no major organs damaged, no vital bones cut, and it allowed the Jedi to fake death long enough to heal some of the injury, while the lightsaber’s cauterization meant that Kenobi could still fight, if he was released.

Palpatine began to talk, ostensibly cheering Skywalker on for his rescue, but it was blatant manipulation that Dooku did not like at all. It was half-eerie croon, encouraging the boy to release his anger and hate. In the Force, it felt even worse, like a toxic web snapping into place through the room and tightening in upon Skywalker and his host.

He stepped back, as if to remove himself from potential danger but in truth allowing himself to be next to Kenobi’s prison as well as steadying himself as he dipped further into the Force. If any dared look his way, there would be no hiding the glow in his eyes.

Interesting. The web did not center on Skywalker, but his arm. The prosthetic one, if he recalled correctly, which was also terrifyingly intriguing given that there were dark echoes pulsing with each word from all of Grievous’ cybernetic components. Skywalker was becoming more enraged, less the duelist Dooku _knew_ him to be. Grievous was becoming more precise, harrying the Jedi. He wasn’t going for killing blows, but damaging ones.

It might have been a bit of foresight from the Force. It might have been leaps of logic. Regardless, it was chilling as Dooku extrapolated what was going on.

Incapacitate the host. Threaten the Jedi’s last remaining friend, an important political figure. Dooku himself was disposable, and not an apparent threat, but Grievous–

What Sith would not want to corrupt one of the most powerful Jedi on record? Skywalker had a reputation, and he would consider his own life a reasonable sacrifice for the Chancellor of the Republic, especially if he were not thinking clearly. If Grievous were taken as an unwilling host, and if the magics woven into his cybernetics – which comprised the majority of his body – did what Dooku suspected they did, then Palpatine – _Sidious_ – would have a terrifying, broken puppet at his disposal.

Dooku had been on the Council when Qui-Gon had brought young Skywalker to the Temple. Far, far worse: the Sith would have a _queen_.

The time for plotting was _over_.

The Count of Serenno surrendered bodily control. Dooku lunged forward, igniting his lightsaber and taking a single, economic swing that seared through armour and cybernetics alike. Skywalker staggered back, crying out as he went to the floor minus an arm. Palpatine shouted, Grievous snarled, and a quick turn meant Dooku’s blade went through the center of the cyborg’s faceplate and cleaved down.

Convenient – it seemed that some of the mechanisms to keep Grievous alive made him rather flammable. Dooku took the opportunity to step back from the flaming corpse, using the Force to crush the controls of Kenobi’s containment field.

It was part instinct, part centuries of training, and part luck that had his lightsaber raised in time to stop two red blades trying to cleave his head from his shoulders. The Chancellor glared at him with burning yellow eyes and bared his teeth. “It seems you have been hiding some things from me, my dear Count,” he growled. “That will never do.”

* * *

What the fuck. What the _entire_ fuck? Fives shoved himself upright, wide-eyed and in that shock-cold emotional distance that meant he’d probably fall apart and panic later when there was a lull in the action. He felt strange. For all the shocky emotional distancing going on, his mind felt _clear_, adrenaline-sharp like he’d just broken hard out of a mental fog. That wouldn’t be so bad except that Anakin felt the same, though more confused.

#_Karking- What-?_# Anakin muttered as they scuttled back from the impossibility before them. #_Why does it feel like someone’s taken a Force-stirrer to my brain?_#

Fives swallowed, staring at the _Chancellor_ going toe to toe with the Count of Serenno. Except it wasn’t their friend Palpatine, not really, not with eyes like that and a Force presence like polluted oil coating their skin.

He didn’t know what to make of the Count, either. The man moved like a Jedi, handled the lightsaber like he’d been at it for centuries, which was good because Palpatine had Jar’Kai down to a deadly artform and he moved like everyone else was at half-speed.

#_What is going– Obi-Wan!_#

Fives bit back an incoherent noise as Obi-Wan ducked into the battle, impossibly alive. Sure, he still had a smoking hole in his armor, which 17 was _not_ going to be happy about, but somehow he was _alive_ and fighting alongside the Count of Serenno against the Chancellor. It made no sense, but at least it resolved the mystery of whose side they were on.

It still hurt his heart, though, to lunge in and block a sweeping cut that would have removed the Count’s arm. Palpatine snarled at them, fury pulsing through the murky mess of the Force. “You would turn on me too, my friend? You _wound_ me,” he growled, lashing out towards Obi-Wan without even looking at him. Fives could hear a grunt of pain, smell burning plastoid that meant it’d been at least a glancing blow, but there was no time to check because Palpatine was still attacking.

* * *

Dooku had done what little he could to practice dueling over the years he’d been undercover. It had been far less that he wanted, and even less than he needed in this battle, but it seemed to be enough to keep him alive for at least a short while. Kenobi was injured, and Skywalker down an arm, but between the three of them they were just barely holding ground.

It hurt to realize that the Sith was playing with them. He could see it in the way that he and his allies were being harried, taking moderate wounds but nothing debilitating. Palpatine controlled the battle’s flow and pace, hammering away at them and keeping them all off balance.

It was inevitable that one of them slipped up, and no surprise that it was Kenobi. The man’s host was already injured, and Palpatine showed a clear favoritism in trying to hurt Skywalker indirectly by hurting his mentor. The fateful blow was textbook perfect; an obscure variant that Dooku only knew because he’d been taught by the Weaponmaster who had first perfected it.

_Disappeared over a century ago, following rumors of Sith artifacts_, he mused as Kenobi literally fell back, thigh-guard a smoking ruin and the leg mostly removed. _I suppose this means she found them._ Not that it helped them any. Skywalker yelled and advanced, hammering away at impeccable, furious defense – expending energy in a manner both reckless and futile. The boy was good, but their foe was better than all three of them.

#_When means both unconventional and otherwise fail, perhaps ridiculous heroics are called for,_# Yan whispered, trying hard to remain unobtrusive. Dooku could feel the resignation tinged with sorrow and returned it in kind, because the man was right. As matters stood, there would be no victory for them, just death – or worse – by attrition. 

Jedi Master Dooku had never shied away from his duty, for all the horrors it had demanded of him. It helped to know that Skywalker would take an opening if it was granted.

Death by Sith Lord. Not how he had ever thought things might end, but both noble and poetic enough to give some solace.

#_It has been a pleasure and an honour,_# the Count murmured, and they lunged directly into the path of a lightsaber. There was enough time to see their own blade remove the arm wielding that lightsaber, then there was only the Force.

* * *

Anakin wasn’t expecting the damned _Count of Serenno_ to literally throw himself in the path of a lightsaber screaming in towards him. It was crazy, it was suicidal, it was _happening_ so now Obi-Wan was on the ground, out of this battle for good unless he could somehow concentrate on Force use through screaming pain and what was probably a severed leg; meanwhile the Count was doing this bobbing lunge that ended with his head flying off in one direction, body in another, and Palpatine’s arm in a third.

They’d been at war for eight years, Fives had trained his whole life for combat, and Anakin had seen plenty of it during his time as a padawan. It was instinct that had them swinging into the space where the lightsaber had been. He could feel that catch of friction, tiny but real as the plasma seared through flimsy flesh and bone. The Chancellor’s body kept lunging forward, but now slack and collapsing next to Serenno’s. Palpatine’s head _thumped_ down far too close to Obi-Wan, rolling to quickly obscure a startled, accusatory glare.

He’d killed _Palpatine_. Anakin staggered, beyond nauseous now, but he refused to go to his knees. He swallowed bile, reminding himself that it had been someone else, a fucking _Sith_ pretending to be his friend. For all he knew, it had been pretending all along. 

#_Which is worse,_# Fives muttered, quiet and distant in the way that meant he didn’t intend to be heard, #_willing host to a Sith or unwilling tool?_#

“I don’t know, but I never want to do that ever again.” Anakin allowed himself one long, slow deep breath in, then he set about contacting the troops. With the leaders of both sides dead, there was no clear victor, which meant they still had a battle to win.

Too bad it all felt hollow.


	3. Puzzle Pieces

Obi-Wan hadn’t expected to wake up. The cloyingly sweet smell of bacta was present but faded, as if he’d been in a dip but several days ago. Since everything had that peculiar washed-out feel that only came with hefty drugs, he suspected the medical types had been keeping him and 17 well sedated – presumably there were pain-killers involved too, but that was less important.

The Force felt...safe. A bit akilter – that’d be the drugs, but also the last Force-eddies of a recent battle. 

#_Flagship,_# 17 muttered at him drunkenly, projecting an image of Grievous, the Count of Serenno, and–

Obi-Wan tried to wrench himself upright as his eyes snapped open. Palpatine! _Sidious!_ Anakin started awake where he was sprawled on the bed next to theirs, then 17 took control and lay back down. 

“Fucking hells, Kenobi, even I can admit we’re not going anywhere! Stop that!”

When even Alpha 17 was insisting they remain bed-ridden, they were in poor shape indeed. Well. That or brain trauma was involved. Obi-Wan checked, only a bit reassured that his host was mostly ok.

They were missing much of their left leg, which was a confusing surprise since he didn’t quite recall how that had happened. Best to focus on the immediate issues, then.

“Did we stop Sidious?”

Poor Anakin, now sitting upright, just looked at him for a long, painful moment. He sighed and bowed his head. “Him, and Palpatine. Along with the Count of Serenno, and Grievous. There’s plenty of mop-up work, but the heads of the Confederacy are all dead now. Along with the Sith.”

Obi-Wan winced, then decided if the mess was going to come out into the open, he might as well own his sins. “What did Masters Windu and Yoda tell you?”

Anakin shook his head, still not looking at him. “Apparently everyone had a secret identity. I thought your grandmaster was off enjoying retirement or something.”

“For the record, I was as surprised as you when the Council informed me why I should try not to injure the Count of Serenno too seriously, should the opportunity arise. I wasn’t on the Council when that decision was made.”

“But you did know before we boarded the _Invisible Hand._ That’s why you made us split up, isn’t it?”

“Anakin–”

“You should have told me! Palpatine was my _friend_!” Anakin snapped as he stood up. It left Obi-Wan feeling dizzy in a way the painkillers never could. 

“Palpatine was a Sith. You know the law requires us–”

“The law requires we destroy the Sith, not their host!” Anakin glared Obi-Wan down. “I’ve been reading up on the techniques, and let me tell you, I don’t know how the Order used to apply them because the odds of getting a Sith to not slaughter anyone long enough for it to work – it’s fucking impossible. They’re token measures, Obi-Wan!”

“Are you angry at him, are you angry at me, or are you angry at yourself?”

Anakin stared at him, tight lipped. Then the dam broke, the Force shivering with leashed rage and anguish. “I thought he was my friend, but I have _no idea_ if I ever even knew Palpatine, or if he was under Sidious’ control the entire time.” His face crumpled, voice going thick. “He knew about Padmé, Obi-Wan. If it hadn’t been for poor timing and plausible deniability, he – I might have told him about the twins.” He raked his hand through his hair, wincing as the bare metal of the new prosthetic caught at a strand. Lowering it, he looked at it with revulsion. “Can you imagine–” his voice broke, “can you imagine what that monster could have done to them?” 

He could, and it hurt far, far worse than any of the injuries he sustained. 

Turning away from Obi-Wan and 17, Anakin paced restlessly to the window and back, four short steps either way. “Fuck. Given what happened- the attack on the crèche, where Qui-Gon and Tahl- Was Palpat- was the _Sith_ behind that too? Or was it Palpatine all along? Did I ever know the person I thought I did? You felt the Force around him. It was _Dark_. I’ve never felt anything like that, and somehow, we missed seeing it. The entire fucking Order, for _decades_, didn’t sense a damned _Sith_ right under our noses!”

Anakin ended up back at Obi-Wan’s bedside, gripping the rail that ran along the bed with their flesh-and-blood hand, the prosthetic balled up at his side. Anakin’s tirade had subsided into pained quiet, so Obi-Wan finally dared to speak.

“I think we all have to come to terms with that, yes. It’s not a pleasant fact, and it’s all right to be a bit…”

“Paranoid?” Anakin snapped, bitter with grief. 

“Cautious.” 

Anakin slumped, looking down. “Right now, I’m just – I’m having trouble trusting _anything_. I watched the security footage from the _Hand_. At first I couldn’t figure out why the Count – why _Dooku_ made removing my prosthetic a priority.” He glanced at the replacement again. “A salvage team brought it into the Temple, and Yoda gave it a once over. He called in some Nightsisters to consult, and from what I heard, they were pretty pissed that the Jedi were mucking around with Dark spells for control and compulsion.”

The blood drained from Obi-Wan’s face. “Spells for _what?_”

“Yeah. Force bullshit that would cloud the mind. They couldn’t figure out more specifically what it would do, but I’m not too broken up about that. Yoda took them into the Temple’s morgue on a hunch, and they nearly punted him out the door insisting they needed to cast some cleansing on Grievous’ corpse and all _his_ prosthetics, _right now_.”

Obi-Wan took a moment to absorb all of that. He started to lever himself upright. “I should–” 

“No!” Anakin and 17 both said at the same time, Anakin sternly putting his hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “You’re on bedrest, and you’re going to stay here if I have to _sit_ on you.”

_#What the kid said,#_ 17 seconded.

Obi-Wan scowled, but laid back down. He listened to the soft ambient noise, feeling the ebb and flow of activity in the Temple through the Force. If they hadn’t killed the Sith Master, would the Temple still be standing? Would Anakin still be sane? No, he wasn’t ready to think about that. They’d done their duty – what they could, and what they’d had to do. “So, what happens now?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Anakin said, subdued.

Obi-Wan’s heart ached for his brother, his friend. He reached out a hand and took Anakin’s, gripping it firmly. The war was over – it had to be. They’d survived. Battered, bruised, somewhat the worse for wear, but they’d survived. “At least we’re all still here. That has to be worth something, doesn’t it?”

Anakin looked at him, and though the answering smile was barely there, he gripped Obi-Wan’s hand back.

* * *

The door shushed closed behind him, and Fives felt some of the weight on them lessen, the safety of home and Padmé acting as a balm to the insanity of...everything. The medics had finally released them, Obi-Wan and 17 had near-ordered them to get actual rest, and the Council was done with them for now.

It’d been days since the attack, and at long last they could do more than trade hurried messages to make sure the family was all right. Shmi had passed them in the Temple halls on their way out, giving a quick hug, assurances that the twins were fine, and orders to go check in on Padmé. 

“Fives, Anakin, you’re back,” Padmé said in greeting as she came over for a hug, still dressed in her Senate clothes.

Anakin rose to the front, encircling their wife with weary arms and breathing deeply. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replied softly, one hand stroking gently down their back. “How’ve you been?”

Anakin pulled back and scrubbed a hand over his face. “We’ve been better. Fighting was declared done yesterday, so the troops are all on cleanup now, and at least the Council’s keeping the Senate off our backs, for the moment.”

“Yes, I saw the pre-recorded statement,” Padmé said. “It didn’t stop the Senate from being absolute chaos, but I don’t think anything could have prevented that.”

Anakin made a face. “I’m not looking forward to tomorrow. Obi-Wan and I have to go give a deposition. Answer questions.” He groaned as they sank down onto the couch, Padmé’s solid warmth slipping in next to them.

“You can do this, I know you can.”

“I’d rather be back on the battlefield,” he admitted bleakly. Fives sent a wave of support, and felt Anakin return it in kind. They’d both be under scrutiny tomorrow, but at least they’d have each other through it.

“Anakin…,” Padmé said, obviously searching for some way to help.

Fives felt Anakin’s presence shrink down again, wanting safety, wanting to hide, and so Fives rose to the fore, giving his Jedi all the safety he could. He got where Anakin was coming from – thinking about everything just made it seem so overwhelming. 

“This whole thing is – it’s so messed up. Palpatine was our _friend_ – Anakin’s more than mine but–” He shook his head. “Nobody told us. Not the Council, not Obi-Wan, not 17. _Why_? Didn’t they – didn’t they trust us?” He looked at Padmé, allowing the hurt and confusion to show. “Were they right? Was the Sith influencing us? Changing us? How would we know? What the karking _hells_ do we do now?” He turned and hugged Padmé again, needing something stable, someone he could depend on. “How do we know what’s _us_ and what’s not?” he asked, barely audible.

“You’re you,” Padmé said, hugging back. It was a wonderful sentiment, but when the entire world felt like quicksand, it wasn’t very helpful.

Anakin nudged, and Fives stepped back. “What’s the worst way I’ve changed? What would you want to change about me?” Anakin asked, arms still wrapped around their wife.

Padmé sat up, gently disentangling herself. She still held their hands, though. “No,” she declared firmly, looking Anakin in the eyes. “I’m not playing that game. I don’t get to tell you who to be.”

“Palpatine usually had a suggestion,” Anakin grumbled, glancing away.

There was a pause. “Anakin,” Padmé said, some mix of compassion and exasperation bleeding into the Force.

Fives and Anakin put it together at the same time. “...Oh,” Anakin said, stomach twisting.

Padmé turned his face back to her. “Who do _you_ want to be?” she asked.

“Someone the Council trusts would be nice,” Anakin said, bitter around the edges.

“How long did they know about…” Padmé trailed off.

Anakin sighed. “Less than a week, if I’m guessing right.”

Fives slumped back, exhausted down to his boots. “Look, we get ‘need to know’ and all that, but you’d think we’d need to know a _Sith_ was running our army, and the asshole running the _enemy’s_ army _was_ on our side, sort of – just–” he motioned in front of him, searching for words.

Anakin clenched their fist, bringing it back down to their lap. “We’re not _pawns_, dammit. Sidious was controlling us, the Council was trying to do the same–”

“Sort of,” Fives amended.

“It’s – just – which way is _up_?” Anakin finished plaintively, and the silence afterwards was heavy and helpless.

Padmé wound an arm around them again in a half hug, and Fives could see the crease between her brows that meant earnest contemplation. “Does the fact that you’re asking me mean that you trust me?” she asked, subdued.

Fives felt Anakin almost respond automatically, but his Jedi stopped himself, giving it serious consideration. Fives sent more wordless support.

“Yes,” Anakin said with a nod, after some thought, then bobbled his head and added, “Fives too, mostly.”

“Mutual,” Fives said with a small, wry grin. “And not offended.”

“I know it’s been difficult, especially this last revelation. All the Jedi – including you two – have been through eight years of hell. I don’t think any one of us hasn’t questioned what we’re doing, what we’re fighting for. But at the end of the day, we have each other, and at least the war is over.”

“_Mostly_,” Anakin corrected with a grimace. “There’s still some mopping up to do, but with luck, we’ll take care of that in the next few weeks.”

“Mostly, then.” Padmé nodded. “So then what we do is we start here. We think we know which way is up, and we keep moving forward. One step at a time, and checking in regularly.” She smiled. “We work on trusting each other, and ourselves, and build from there.”

Anakin managed a small smile that felt way too fragile. “I hate the baby steps approach.” He sighed, slumping back again as exhaustion snuck up on them once more. “If we just finished this war, then why can’t we move on to _other_ things, instead of just more trudging forward?”

Fives agreed, but he’d learned his lesson over the years. “Life’s messier than that.”

Anakin made a face. “I just want one thing to be nice and neat and easy to deal with, that’s all. Just one thing.”

Padmé leaned in, giving a quick kiss to their cheek. “That I might be able to provide. Threepio is putting together a simple dinner, and I could use some help if you want to address the eighteen messages Ahsoka and Echo left on my com since yesterday trying to find out what’s been going on, since official channels have nothing but the official statement.”

Fives sat up enough to blink at her. “Eighteen…?” Oh, for Force’s sake. They’d left Ahsoka and Echo in charge of holding the line on Jabiim against what was left of the Sep forces there, and whether they had a solid clue about the nature of Fives’ relationship with Padmé or not, they did know he could usually be found in the Senator’s quarters when off duty. The absurdity of poor Echo calling _eighteen_ times sideswiped Fives, and his blank stare collapsed into helpless snickers. “Echo – he must be so frustrated–” The laughter bubbled up further, popping through exhaustion, stress, and the messy emotions like soap bubbles. “They commed in _eighteen times?_”

Padmé grinned at them. “He tried very hard to be professional about it, too.”

Fives let the laughter shake off at least some of the stress still coiling through them. It was nice to have something small they could deal with, and frustrating as it could be – Well, it made for a nice first step. 

**Author's Note:**

> **We're doing round two of Star Fever!**
> 
> For people who are new, Star Fever is a slightly structured invite to create fanworks of A Star To Steer By (fanworks are always welcome, not just during Star Fever, but it’s nice to have An Event sometimes.)
> 
> **General guidelines:** any fanworks(fic, art, gifset, playlist) set in the Star ‘verse, or using the premise of it (Jedi as goa’uld symbiotes). You can absolutely do crossovers, AUs, different eras, use OCs, or play with what’s been written so far.
> 
> **Now - 31 January:** Signups are open! Drop us a line and we’ll add you to the list (nothing binding, just to give us a rough idea if anyone’s interested in playing).
> 
> for more info, check out <https://dogmatix.tumblr.com/post/189988932353/star-fever-ii>


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